


Trick or Tights

by Sexxica



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Clothed Sex, Coming In Pants, Costumes, Established Relationship, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Lingerie, Lisping Sherlock, M/M, Pantyhose, Sherlock Holmes and Bees, Sherlock in a slutty costume, Stockings, Tights, Well a Bee Costume Anyway, basically crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 11:39:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2546210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sexxica/pseuds/Sexxica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Apparently Sherlock can't be trusted to choose his own costume for a Halloween party.  The boys don't even make it out of the flat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trick or Tights

**Author's Note:**

> Now with amazing [fanart](http://doctorwhoatson.tumblr.com/post/101615235906/request-for-thegeekcooks-thank-you-so-much-for/) by [doctorwhoatson](http://doctorwhoatson.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr!

"Sherlock are you ready to guh... wow," John's brain ground to a startling halt at the sight of Sherlock emerging from the bedroom in the costume he had selected. 

John stared. John tried to conceal the way he had to gulp air back into his lungs. John failed miserably at both of these things. "Is that," John squeaked, tried again. "Is  _ that _ what you're wearing to Molly's party?"

"Yes of course. You said fancy dress, did you not?"  Sherlock adjusted his headband, making the bobbly antennas attached to it wobble. 

"Well, yeah, but ..." John trailed off again, distracted. "Jesus, are you wearing any pants?"

Sherlock felt his cheeks flush slightly. "They wouldn't fit. Under the tights."

It wasn't even really a conscious decision on John's part to cross the room and press Sherlock up against the wall, it just kind of happened. "Sherlock Holmes you are not leaving this flat dressed as some sort of slutty bumblebee.  Let alone without your pants.  Is that clear?" John growled out, one hand trailing possessively up a black and yellow striped thigh. 

Sherlock squirmed against him.  “Y-you’re crushing my wings,”  he whined.

John just gave a noncommittal humm, too busy taking in the sight of Sherlock in a tight, striped tube top, skinny straps holding the gauzy wings on, and a short, flouncy black tutu that was practically indecent -- pants or no pants. “John,” Sherlock insisted, “you’re…”

“Crushing your wings. I heard.”  John pulled Sherlock away from the wall with two hands firmly on his waist and quickly ushered him over to the kitchen table, turning him and bending him down over it.  “Better?”  John teased, letting one hand rest heavily on the small of Sherlock’s back while the other trailed over the puffy tutu and down to his barely covered arse.

“We’re going to be late for the party.”  Sherlock tried.

“You don’t care about the party.” John replied.

“Yes, but  _ you _ care about the party, and our,” Sherlock paused, as if he were searching for a word not often used, “... _ friends _ .”  Ah, there it was.

John didn’t answer right away, too enthralled with the sight of those striped tights, stretched to near breaking and almost transparent over Sherlock’s plush arse.  John ran his finger down the slightly raised seam, making Sherlock shiver.  “You really think this is an appropriate costume for our friends to see you in?”

“I thought you would like it.”  Sherlock said quietly.  

“Oh, I do, Sherlock, I do.”  John said, pressing himself briefly against Sherlock, in a practical demonstration of just how much he did, in fact, like Sherlock’s costume.  “But, I don’t think I can let you leave here wearing it.  Especially not with your tights in this state.”  John tsked, pinching the seam and pulling the tights away from Sherlock’s skin.  The material quickly gave way under the firm poke of a finger, then tore with a  _ rrrrriiipp  _ until there was a great, gaping hole, frayed around the edges, framing Sherlock’s areshole quite prettily in torn black and yellow.  Sherlock whined indignantly on the table.  

John reached into the pocket of his fatigue trousers for his phone.  It wasn’t much of a costume, he knew, but John in anything even remotely military drove Sherlock completely crazy, and John admitted he still looked good in them and a plain white vest, showing off his arms and collarbones.  He had intended to pull Sherlock away from the party early, give him a bit of Captain Watson that he loved so much, but Sherlock had derailed his plans completely.  John put the phone next to Sherlock’s hand.  “Call Molly, tell her we won’t be there.” 

“I’ll text her.”  Sherlock picked up the phone.

John gave a quick swat to Sherlock’s arse.  “You will call her.  And will explain  _ kindly _ that we won’t be there.  That’s an order.”

Sherlock gave a low groan, picking out Molly’s mobile number on the phone and listening to the rings, hoping she wouldn’t pick up.  But, she did.

“Hi John, why aren’t you and Sherlock here yet?”

“It’s me.  John and I won’t be able to make it, I’m afraid.”  Sherlock managed to say calmly as John fondled his arse cheeks, using his thumbs to gently spread them apart.  

“Oh no!”  Molly said, clearly disappointed,  “is anything the matter?”

“Yes!”  Sherlock shouted into the receiver as John very suddenly, very wetly dragged his tongue across Sherlock’s puckered hole.  “I mean no!”  Sherlock tried to recover, suddenly dazed and more than a little flustered as John continued his assault.  “Its-its-it’s a case.  Important case.  Came up very suddenly.”

Sherlock heard the small click of a cap being popped, tried to force the air both into and back out of his lungs as Molly said … something … on the other end of the phone.  Maybe something about Lestrade?  Sherlock couldn’t be entirely sure because John was circling a cold, slick finger around his hole and he was suddenly unable to hold onto any information at all.  He went with what he thought he heard.  “I am a  _ consulting detective _ , Molly, I do not just work for Lestrade.  Now, I have to go, important cathe,”  he lisped, “case!”  Sherlock cursed under his breath as John pushed a finger inside of him, quickly sliding a second in alongside it.

“Kindly, Sherlock.”  John warned quietly.

“Pleathe,”  Sherlock whined, then tried to cover it up with a cough as John scissored his fingers.  “Please give everyone our regards, and have a h-happy Halloween.”  Sherlock hung up quickly before he could embarrass himself further and let out a quivering moan as he slumped down on the table, letting John’s phone slip out of his hand.  

“Very good.  _ Very _ good,” John muttered, unsure himself whether he was praising Sherlock for his good manners, or the way his arsehole looked stretched around his fingers.  John worked them in and out, opening Sherlock up as he relished the way the light, gauzy wings attached to Sherlock’s back quivered and shook with every ragged breath Sherlock took, or every delightful twist of John’s fingers.  

“John,” Sherlock whimpered pitifully.  “John pleathe.”

John groaned.  That lisp did things to him, terrible, wonderful things that made him think he was a very bad man indeed.  It only came out when Sherlock was completely gone -- his poor giant mind so overloaded with sensation that he lost all control over himself.  John reached around and squeezed Sherlock’s hard cock where it was trapped in his tights as he slipped a third finger into him.  Sherlock keened and squirmed beautifully.

John worked quickly to get Sherlock’s tight ring of muscles relaxed enough to take him, and when he was ready, John slicked his cock up and slid into Sherlock in one smooth thrust.  They moaned in unison and John had to take a moment while his eyes slid shut and he breathed a deep, steadying breath in through his nose.  “Fuuuuck,”  he drawled, and Sherlock whimpered, already trying to push back against him.  John groaned again, “so fucking impatient.”  He pulled out and thrust back in, hard.  “Is that why.  You’re wearing.  This ridiculous.  Outfit?”  John punctuated each pause with a vigorous thrust.  John dug his hands into the rough, scratchy tulle of Sherlock’s tutu, using it as a handle to drag Sherlock’s hips back as he mercilessly fucked him.  

“Couldn’t even wait until after the party, could you?”  John growled, watching the bobbles on Sherlock’s headband sway and wobble wildly as he drove himself over and over again into Sherlock’s tight arse.  

Sherlock wasn’t even responding, just letting out a series of wordless moans and sobs as John took him apart.  He distantly heard the rip of tulle as John’s grip began to shred his costume further, but he couldn’t be arsed (he excused himself the pun) to care because he was close, so close.  He managed to mewl out a garbled “pleathe!” and John got the message, managing to rub him firmly, although fumblingly, through the tights.  Sherlock shouted as he came and felt as John followed shortly after, wet and pulsing inside of him.  

John stayed bent over Sherlock’s back, panting, his hands full of tutu.  Sherlock shivered underneath him, the quickly cooling wet patch on his tights already feeling sticky and unpleasant.  When John pulled out and stood back, Sherlock straightened up, turning around with a grin on his face that said he had gotten exactly what he wanted.  John couldn’t even be mad, really, so he just kissed that grin, pulling Sherlock in close.

“You have another pair of those, yeah?”  John asked,  feeling the silky tights still clinging to Sherlock’s thighs.

“Of course,”  Sherlock murmured, still a little wrecked.

“Good.” John growled back, pushing Sherlock toward the bedroom.

**Author's Note:**

> [Don't forget to follow me on Tumblr!](http://sexxicawrites.tumblr.com/)


End file.
